Brief Encounter
by Silverweaver
Summary: Sandy brings his work home from the office in the most literal sense yet. Written for the TWoP Missing Scene Challenge. [One shot].


_**Disclaimer:** The O.C. is property of Fox.  
**Author's Note:** Written for the TWoP OC Missing Scene Challenge: The Pilot.  
**Dedication:** For Ctoan, the organizer of the challenge: world domination to follow._

* * *

Sandy sat at the bottom of the stairs, absently mindedly chewing on a biro as he tried to find a four-letter word for inspiration that would complete his crossword. It had taken him a depressingly long time to finish and the lure of the thesaurus in his study was becoming harder to resist with each passing second. Just when he thought he could no longer restrain himself, he heard the bathroom door creak open and the sound of footsteps padding down the hallway. Moments later, the unmistakable strains of guitar laden indie rock began to permeate the house once again from Seth's bedroom. Abandoning his newspaper and oozy pen on the bottom step, Sandy got to his feet and headed up the stairs and down the hallway towards the source of the music. Raising his hand to knock, Sandy paused for a moment in attempt to gather his thoughts. He gave it two seconds before giving up.

"Screw it," he muttered to himself, as he knocked on the door, "Seth? You decent?"

"Hang on," Seth called out, "Yeah okay."

Tentatively, Sandy pushed open the door and looked around the room. He honestly couldn't remember the last time he'd set foot in it. It was tidier than the average sixteen-year-old's and the mess that would normally be snaking across the floor of half the teenagers in Newport Beach seemed to have migrated to the walls. They were plastered in a variety of music memorabilia, from posters of British punk bands, to the selection of obscure postcards and fliers stuck haphazardly above the bed. As he looked around the room, Sandy realized with a more than a little sadness that these walls had probably told him more about his son's interests in thirty seconds than Seth had in a month.

"What's up?" asked Seth as he pulled on a scruffy t-shirt before attacking his wet hair with a towel.

"You got a second?"

"Sure. Though if you're here to tell me we're moving back to Berkeley, we can just skip the conversation and move straight to the wild party."

"Sorry, kiddo," said Sandy, his gaze drifting to the top of Seth's bookcase where a map lay spread out, covered with pencil notations. In the top corner the number 42 and a question mark was circled. "What's 42?"

Seeing the source of his father's interest, Seth hastily crossed the room and folded the map away, "Uh nothing. Geography project. You know how Harbor likes to deny the existence of the holidays." He turned back to Sandy, "So what can I do for you? You look like someone died. Hey, no one died, did they? I mean, Nana-"

"- God no, no-one died. Nana's fine. Well, you know. She's Nana."

"Cool. So?..." Seth asked, trying to read his father's mood. He didn't think he was in trouble; he'd managed to get the orange juice out of the carpet in the study without anybody noticing, or at least he thought he had. Still, he was worried. His Dad looked weary and the huge sigh he let out as he sat down on Seth's bed did nothing to alleviate his concerns, "Dad, what's wrong?"

Sandy patted the bed next to him, "Come here."

"'Kay," said Seth uncertainly as he joined his father.

"Seth, I know you're not happy."

"What, Dad, I'm fine," Seth lied, surprised at his father's sudden foray into emotional reaching out.

"Don't say that. You spend most of the time in here or playing video games, you seem to exist solely on cereal, I know you're not sleeping, -"

"How-, "

"- I hear you rummaging around the kitchen."

Sandy looked at Seth, wondering how he could reattach him to the world, convince him that he could make things better for him, "You've gone quiet again," he said softly.

Seth looked down at his hands, knowing what his father was driving at.

"Dad, I'm okay, really," he said as he glanced up at Sandy, mistaking the melancholy hidden in his father's expression for skepticism, "You can search my room if you like."

"Hey. There's no need for that," Sandy reproached him, sighing as Seth looked down once more, abashed. This was not the conversation he'd intended to have when he came upstairs and he was not enjoying it, "Listen Seth, I didn't come in here to talk over old ground with you."

"Then why did you?"

"Because I met someone today. And it made me think."

"Oh, yeah, who'd you meet?"

"His name's Ryan. Sixteen. Smart kid, did a stupid thing."

"And he made you think?" asked Seth, now completely confused by what Sandy was talking about.

"Yes, he did. Things aren't looking too good for him; his Dad's in jail, his older brother's going to be joining him and unless his mother starts acting like one, there's a good chance he's going to go the same way."

"But you're helping him, right?"

"Right."

"Then what's your point? I don't get it. I mean, you meet kids like that every day and it sucks that stuff like that happens. And I know it makes you mad sometimes, and I totally understand that, but what's different about Ryan?"

"My point is that I don't want you to ever think you can't talk to us. I know there's some unwritten rule that says teenagers aren't meant communicate with their parents, but I want you to ignore it. I don't want to search your room. I don't want to think that I might need to and I don't want you to suggest anything to the contrary, even as a passing smart remark."

"Sorry," said Seth, feeling sheepish.

"Forget it. Look, Seth. There are kids out there, like Ryan, who can't talk to their parents. And I know it's a two way street and I've not been very available lately, but I promise that's going to change; I don't like being scared because I don't know what my son is thinking."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Okay, I will be verbose once more," Seth joked, "But just remember, you asked for it."

"I will," replied Sandy. He stood up and made his way over to the stereo sitting on the bookshelf. Seth tried not to let his embarrassment show as Sandy nodded along to the beat of the music.

"Have I heard these guys before?"

"It's Muse, Dad. I play them constantly."

"Oh. They sound... depressed."

"They're just tortured. Professionally. You can change it if you want."

"No, I like it."

"There's hope for you yet."

Seth regarded his father critically, as he browsed through his CD collection. The talking, the sudden interest in his music, he was acting weird. He decided to probe.

"So this Ryan. Where's he from?"

"Chino. The less nice end of it." Having heard about some of the cases his father had been involved in with kids from Chino, Seth wasn't even aware there was a nice end and less nice end. He knew his Dad loved his job, but he also knew he found it depressing. Most of the time, he had shaken it off by the time he'd got home, but if this kid Ryan had gotten under his father's skin enough to prompt a heart to heart than he was guessing it probably sucked to be him even more than it did to be Seth Cohen. For the first time in perhaps, well, ever, Seth was glad he lived in Newport.

"What's going to happen to him?"

"Probation probably. As for the rest, I'm not sure. I'm hoping I can make it better."

"What'd he do?"

"Stole a car, or tried to. At least his brother did; turns out he's better at breaking into vehicles than driving them."

"Was it a nice car?"

"Ask Ryan. He might talk about it. Well, possibly, he's not what you'd call chatty."

"Ask him?"

"He's in the pool house."

"I'm sorry, what?!" asked Seth, his draw dropping in surprise as if he were a cartoon.

"Things went badly at home," said Sandy, noting his son's dumbstruck expression with interest, "He's going to be staying with us this weekend."

"Are you like actually telling the truth now? And does Mom know? Because if she doesn't can I be there when you tell her?"

"Hey, watch it. Ryan's a good kid, just needs a break. I know this is weird, but I want you to look out for him, show him around. Would you do that for me?"

"He doesn't play water polo, does he?" asked Seth with a slight hint of anxiety in his voice.

"I think the answer to that is a definite no," his father replied with confidence.

"Then I can do that."

"Thank you. It's just for the weekend."

"It's fine, really. It's not like I have a car for him to steal anyway, so I'm sure we'll get on like a house on fire," Seth joked, before adding, "Unless he does that too?"

"It's not on his résumé," said Sandy before moving back across the room and grabbing Seth in a close hug. "You're a good person, Seth," he said as he squeezed him tightly, "You shouldn't let anybody make you feel any differently."

Unsure of how to respond, to the unexpected outpouring of affection, Seth returned the embrace, "Well obviously, it's all down to good parenting."

"You could do worse," replied Sandy, smiling to himself as he broke away, "That is totally my new mantra."

"You've lost me," Seth said, confused once more.

"You'll survive," Sandy picked up Seth's towel from the floor and threw it good-naturedly at him as he headed for the door.

"Hey!" exclaimed Seth as the towel caught him round the head, "This better not be a metaphor, Dad."

"Dry your hair, it's late," Sandy said with a smile.

"Aye sir." Seth watched as he left, still feeling slightly unsettled. As the door pulled shut, he jumped up from his bed, calling out to his father and reaching for the handle just as the door swung open. Father and son regarded each other uncertainly.

Seeing the apprehension on his son's face, Sandy reached out a hand to him momentarily before reconsidering, not wanting to invade his personal space, "Is everything okay Seth?"

"Yeah. I just..." Seth trailed off, wondering how best to phrase what he wanted to say, if he should at all. Aware of his dad's eyes searching his expression for clues, he took a deep breath and gabbled in a rush, "I just wanted to tell you, about the pills; I was never going to take them. I don't know why I kept them, I mean I thought about it, but never really thought about it seriously. So I just thought you should know; I'd never do that."

Sandy closed his eyes, unable to express exactly how relieved Seth's words made him feel. Instead, he simply leant forward and laying his hands on his son's shoulders gently kissed him on the forehead.

"You know I love you, right?" he told him, looking him straight in the eye.

"Kinda got that impression, yeah," replied Seth, "And I'd tell you it's mutual but there's this unwritten rule that kids aren't meant to communicate with their parents."

"Fair enough," said Sandy gratefully, his gaze suddenly drawn to a smudge of black just below Seth's hairline. "Where's this come from?" he asked, wiping at it.

"That would be you," said Seth, ducking away, "You've got ink like all over your face. I would have said something but I thought it was just your eyebrows colonizing the rest of you. Plus you know, you look funny."

"Oh great," said Sandy, bringing his fingers to his lips, grunting as they came away black. He looked over at Seth and his smug grin, and felt the need to offer an explanation, "I was doing the crossword. Do you know a four letter word for inspir- oh, muse!" he exclaimed. "Okay, I'm an idiot."

"You might not want to tell Ryan that, Dad. You're supposed to be filling him with confidence."

"Is it too late to change my mind about you talking?" Sandy joked.

"I don't know," Seth said, feeling more genuinely at ease with his dad than he had done in a long time. He didn't know who Ryan was, but he liked him already. "Guess we'll find out."


End file.
